


Cha Cha Slide

by Pineau_noir



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, Ballroom Dancing, Blind Al may not have working eyes but she's got moves, F/F, Fluff, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Sassy Peter Parker, Self-Indulgent, Wade Wilson: Ballroom Dancer, no nutritional value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/pseuds/Pineau_noir
Summary: Wade Wilson loved to dance.No, really, helovedto dance. Looking at him you wouldn’t expect a scarred, world weary, former SpecOps, red blooded Canadian man to love to do the cha cha, the tango, the foxtrot, and the waltz, but fate had always been a trickster when it came to Wade. After his accident, he always felt like an outsider in his body, he remembered when he was attractive, hell when he was hot. He could flirt with just the quirk of an eyebrow, the hint of a smile. Now he felt like his smile was gruesome and he didn’t actuallyhaveeyebrows anymore. But dancing, he felt more like himself when he was dancing.The completely self-indulgent fic where Wade is a ballroom dancer, Blind Al is a former ballerina, Weasel plays the piano, and Peter shows up at the end when Wade is sort of starting to like himself.





	Cha Cha Slide

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this post](https://superneenio.tumblr.com/post/177634010976/neurodivergent-crow-thecoldheartofspace-so%22) on Tumblr. I read it and immediately felt like it was young me, always a little too plump and awkward to be a good dancer. I pictured Wade in my shoes and Peter as the tiny but strong af dancer and thought I had to write it!
> 
> I got great support from the Isn't It Bromantic discord, by which I mean all 3 people in the room thought it was a good idea, so thanks to everybody in there for giving me some encouragement!
> 
> The name is because I had that song stuck in my head at the beginning and thought "what the hell."
> 
> Now more error free thanks to [Sordiddetailsfollowing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SordidDetailsFollowing)

Wade Wilson loved to dance. 

No, really, he _loved_ to dance. Looking at him you wouldn’t expect a scarred, world weary, former SpecOps, red blooded Canadian man to love to do the cha cha, the tango, the foxtrot, and the waltz, but fate had always been a trickster when it came to Wade. After his accident, he always felt like an outsider in his body; he remembered when he was attractive, hell when he was hot. He could flirt with just the quirk of an eyebrow, the hint of a smile. Now he felt like his smile was gruesome and he didn’t actually _have_ eyebrows anymore. But dancing, he felt more like himself when he was dancing.

And despite all of his scars and self loathing, he was a much desired partner. He knew it had more to do with his strong frame (good posture was drilled into him in the military), and his body type. Because though Wade looked vastly different from before the IED exploded, giving him second and third degree burns everywhere imaginable, he kept his muscular build; strong broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist and hips with muscular calves and thighs to round him out. He was also deceptively light on his feet. There were days when Wade thought that if he had been conventionally attractive _at all_ he would have been able to make a go on the ballroom competition circuits. But he knew no one would ever want to stare into his face for dance after dance in city after city.

So he just made do with going through studio through studio until it was apparent his assets had been overshadowed by his flaws. His wit just was not appreciated by everyone, he was like a fine dry wine, or like kombucha, more of an acquired taste.

He had started at a new studio, Sister Margaret’s, the previous week and already preferred it to some of the other studios where he had taken lessons. For one, this had an all inclusive policy posted on the front door. He laughed to himself and muttered “The fucking Planet Fitness of ballroom, a judgement free zone." But he did have to smile, seeing the words “We believe dance is for everyone. If you think there are any exclusions to who can dance, whether it be due to gender or sexual identity, any handicap, skin color, religion, any manner of dress (nudists unfortunately _not_ included due to New York state laws), or any perceived flaw, this is _not_ the studio for you.” Under that sign was a picture of Wonder Woman punching Donald Trump that said “While we do not endorse violence here at Sister Margaret’s, anyone who successfully punches the president will get free lifetime lessons.” He chuckled at that; it was a new addition to the door.

Pushing in he heard the clashing sounds of classical music, played on an actual piano by a slightly disgruntled greasy sort of guy named Weasel who was always present for the ballroom classes, and some loud dubstep in a different room where he could see an older, blind woman popping faster than he could imagine. It had taken several years for him to find this studio but he thought he might have found a place that he wouldn’t feel like he was “othered” so quickly.

That night’s class went quickly and Wade was amused to see some of the woman being big enough to do lifts with some of the men. He was paired with a beautiful black woman with vitiligo that was mostly unseen except for a large diamond shape around her eye. At the end of the lesson they had the chance to show off what they had accomplished with their partner to the whole class.

Neena, who prefered to be called Domino, nodded and said “Yeah, let’s do this. Let’s fucking strip the paint by how hot this is going to be.”

Wade just grinned and took her hand. They had practiced all the five top dances, (cha cha, foxtrot, rumba, waltz, and swing dancing) and Wade found them to be pretty physically compatible. But during their freestyle, Wade felt like he was personally touched by Lady Luck. Each turn was flawless, lifting Domino felt like second nature, at one point they changed it up and _she_ led; it was one of the best experiences of his life. 

Wade walked home with a smile on his face that was still there in the morning. He was even smiling when he got into work.

“Wow, Wade, you’re walking a little funny and smiling. You get laid or something?” Nate, his boss, asked when Wade walked into the trailer. Nate had a security company that guarded construction sites. It wasn’t the most glamorous job but it helped fill in the monetary gap between Wade’s rent, food, utilities and his military pension he received after his discharge. 

“No, you douche. I just had a good night. What does today look like?” Wade asked, desperate to change the subject. Nate did not know about his dance lessons and Wade wanted to keep it that way. 

Nate glared at him for a minute. “Nothing different today. Just watch the cameras, keep up with the perimeter check, same old, same old. I’m going to go home and sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that the older, frankly fuckable, man left and Wade looked over the notes from the construction company. As Nate had said, it was all the same. 

Wade got through his shift, still thinking about the night before and how light and free he had felt while dancing. He really really hoped, in fact he said a little prayer to Hello Kitty, that what Sister Margaret’s sign said would prove to be true. He wanted a place to belong, a place to dance where he wouldn’t be judged on his scarring. God knew, he hated the way he looked enough, he did not need to be judged by other people. 

His shift ended abruptly when Bob, his relief showed up.

“Wow, Mr. Wilson,” he squeaked, “you’re looking really sharp today.”

“Thanks, Bob. Had a good night.”

“That’s great. Whatever is making you so happy, you should keep doing that!”

Wade smiled. Bob was a notorious asskisser, but in this case, he thought he should probably take Bob’s advice.

Three days later, Wade found himself back at the studio. He had looked over Sister Margaret’s website and obstinately decided to sign up for their “Ballet for Beginners” class. He had absolutely no background or experience in ballet, but thought something new would be fun. There was no assigned dress code so he wore some running tights and an oversized shirt assuming he wouldn’t want bulk. Weasel was at the piano and to his great surprise, the blind woman who had been dancing alone, was leading the class. 

“I hear someone new!” she exclaimed. “I’m Al, I’m in charge,” she said as she pointed at the wall. “Here are Yukio and Ellie, they help me. I may not see if you do something right but I can damn well show you the correct way to perform everything. If you follow what I do, you’ll be ok.”

Wade smirked and the darker haired of the two women, he assumed were Ellie and Yukio, walked over and pointed at him. 

“Hey, asshole. Al used to be a professional ballerina. She may not be able to see but she is a great teacher.”

Wade lifted his hand in the universal sign for “I surrender."

“I have no doubt she can teach me a lot, that’s why I’m here. It’s just that this is _not_ what I was expecting.”

She just glared at him while the other woman, who had long pink hair walked over and waved. “Hi, I’m Yukio,” she said with a smile. “Ignore Ellie, she’s super protective. We’ve been teaching with Al for a couple of years and know what to look for in new students.” She lifted up their entwined hands. “Ellie’s all bark and no bite. Just let us know if we can help you with anything!”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, Yukio,” Wade said as he felt a goofy smile take over his face.

“No problem. Bye Wade!”

After that less than stellar first impression, Wade kept to the back of the room and paid close attention. While the warm up was completely foreign, the barre work was crazy hard for someone his size, the actual dancing came much more naturally. He was especially excited about the sheer number of jumps he was able to perform. In this aspect he _much_ preferred ballet. Class finally ended with a wave from Yukio and another glare from Ellie.

Al made her way to him and reached up to grasp his arm. “Good Lord, you’re a big ‘un,” she said as she copped a feel. Wade felt a blush stain his cheeks and was glad she couldn’t see it. “It was good to have you in class today. Ellie doesn’t much care for people other than Yukio but we always need men in the class. Come back if you want. Or not. No skin off my nose.”

Wade spent the next couple of days at work looking up things about ballet, from famous dances, to the terminology used (everything was in _French_ ), to becoming slightly aroused at pictures of famous ballet dancers. The women were beautiful, of course, but holy fuck, the men. The MEN! They were all muscular in skin tight clothes with prominent bulges. Wade never discriminated in his sexuality, he wanted all kinds of people, but his wet dreams definitely had a long history of muscular men in tight clothing.

He was not ashamed of the fact that he furiously masturbated half the night to pictures of men in tights whose names he couldn’t pronounce (because most of the dancers were Russian and Russian was a ridiculous language).

Wade wasn’t sure if he was going to love ballroom as much now that he had a heart boner for ballet, but he wasn’t willing to give up the other discipline. At least, not right away. So on the usual night, he walked into the ballroom class, hoping to see Domino again since they had danced so well the week before. He was a little disappointed not to see her but something else had caught his eye.

Like the week before, the official rules of ballroom did not apply. He recognized Ellie and Yukio, who were dancing together, with Yukio leading, there was another couple of a slim man dancing with a muscular woman who did all the lifts. Wade felt his heart ache a little. He loved his strength, loved his muscles but knew he was impossibly heavy and would never be able to be tossed around like a rag doll. He wasn’t sure why exactly it bothered him except it was one more thing in a long line of things he wouldn’t be able to experience. 

He was in the corner, by the piano when he huffed out a big sigh which did not go unnoticed by Weasel, who was once again providing the soundtrack for the class.

“What’s wrong?” he snarked. “Somebody else catch a load of that mug and leave you with blue balls?”

Wade rolled his eyes. Weasel never pulled his punches. “Yeah, your girlfriend saw my dick and didn’t know if it would fit after your tiny hotdog and left.” To be fair, Wade didn’t pull his punches either.

Both men glared at each other and then started laughing. “Hey, you better get back to tickling the ivories, don’t want the masses to know I’m your favorite,” Wade said, spirits slightly lifted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, everybody's a critic,” Weasel grumbled then picked up the melody again.

Wade’s focus was captured by the little snack who was currently dancing with Ellie. The boy, God, Wade _really_ hoped he wasn’t an actual boy, seemed to be a good head shorter than Wade and couldn’t have weighed more than a buck thirty soaking wet. His hair seemed to be the biggest part of him. It was apparent he and Ellie had danced together before and for once she wasn’t glaring at anyone. Ellie lifted the mystery, hopefully not a minor, and Wade’s jaw hit the floor.

“His ass…like it was carved by a master sculptor,” he gasped. “Don’t be a perv, Wilson. You can’t pop a boner in class. You maybe finally found the place where you belong, don’t get kicked out because of an awkward boner.”

Apparently he had said all of that aloud because he could hear Weasel snicker behind him. Without missing a note, he told Wade, “That’s Peter, he’s in college, real shy dude. Nice though. Don’t drool on the floor, can’t afford the disability payment for somebody slipping on it.”

Wade wiped his mouth and nodded. Then he did the classic _Home Alone_ pose with his hands on his cheeks and squealed a little when Ellie lifted and threw Peter a little in the air then caught him, only for Peter to launch himself into a backwards somersault. “Sweet Bea Arthur, I need to marry him and have his dancing babies,” he whispered.

“Wade, seriously, take your perv elsewhere.”

Wade nodded again and moved to where Yukio was standing.

“Hi Wade!”

“Hi Yukio! Your girl? Is she your girl?” Yukio nodded. “Your girl has some moves.”

Yukio giggled. “You have no idea.”

“ _Ohmygod_ I want to know everything! Or nothing! I don’t know! That’s such a tough choice!” 

While he was trying to decide if he wanted more details from the half scary, half K-pop princess lesbian duo, the dance ended.

“Bye Wade! It’s my turn to dance with Ellie!” Yukio chirped.

“Bye!” Wade said and waved.

To Wade’s horror, Peter walked right up to him.

“Thatwasamazing,” Wade spewed out. “You’re so graceful and pretty and holy shit you can do gymnastics?!? Are you like my subconscious giving me a really intense lucid dream?”

Peter laughed and ran his hands through his thick chestnut hair. His eyes crinkled a little at the corners and Wade wanted to lick his eyes because they were the exact color of milk chocolate. Then he shook his head, that was probably a weird response. 

“Um, I don’t think so?” Peter said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve been alive for a quarter of a century instead of like the thirty seconds a dream would give you?”

Wade, inelegantly, for all of his elegance while dancing, he could be stupidly awkward, thrust his hand out for Peter to shake. “Wade Winston Wilson. Anytime you want me to pick you up and throw you around on the dance floor, or hell in any other situation, let me know, baby boy.”

Peter’s cheeks colored at that and Wade squeed internally. “Peter Parker. And who's to say I couldn't throw you around on the dance floor?”

“Sweetheart, I weigh at least twice what you weigh. I’ve resigned myself to being the lifter not the liftee in lifts. Unless a literal Colossus joins the class, but that guy is like crazy busy.”

Peter looked bemused. “Ok, if you’re sure. But I’ll bet you a drink that I can do all the lifts you want. When Yukio and Ellie are done we can do a little dance. I’ll lead.”

“Seriously? Why would you want to dance with me? You’re so pretty and I’m…well my skin has the same texture as melted plastic.”

Peter leveled him with a stern look and Wade shivered a little. This little guy was a firecracker! “Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he warned. “You have beautiful eyes, a jawline that I want to gnaw on, and muscles for days. If I’m your subconscious, you’re my wet dream come to life. I _did not_ dance through puberty without having many, many pants feelings about muscley men in tights. Just because you’re scarred doesn't make you unworthy of love or lust. So shut up and let’s dance?”

Wade, for one of the infrequent times in his life, was struck dumb. He nodded.

True to his word, Peter _was_ able to lift him throughout the dance. Wade felt like the Grinch as his heart, and possibly his rebellious cock, grew three sizes. He also felt like a fairy princess. He had no idea how Peter was so strong but move after move, lift after lift, he stayed consistent and allowed Wade to pretend he was dainty and light.

After the dance was over, Peter had a cocky smile on his face. “Told ya. Anyone who says you’re too big is just a lazy ass. Guess you owe me a drink, tall, strong, and handsome.”

“Baby boy, that sounds like a dream come true.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [Tumblr](https://pineau-noir.tumblr.com/) where I reblog Spideypool, Stucky, things that make me laugh, things that are important to me, and cute animals. I'm way too old to understand how it all works.


End file.
